Letter
by katekarson
Summary: Lily waits for James to return from Order business. Written as a present for a friend; that's why the reference to my OC from my other story Can You, Can't You? is in there.


Lily looked up from the letter she was writing, biting her lip gently and twiddling the welled-up quill between her fingers. It was difficult to compose; what were you supposed to write to one of your best friends if you weren't allowed to tell them anything about where you were, what you were doing or how you feared for your husband's safety – even that he was your husband at all. She looked over her shoulder at the door as if willing him to walk through it, but he didn't. Of course he didn't. He was on Order business, and he'd told her he wouldn't be home before six. A quick glance at the clock told her he had ten minutes left before he was late; and of course, he _would_ be late, and then she would worry, and then he would come home and she'd throw her arms around him so that he could hold her back and tell her he was sorry; that there'd been a problem with his mission and that he hadn't intended to make her worry. He'd probably kiss her, and that would make the tears die down. He'd be here; he'd be alright. He always was.

Focusing her attention back on the letter she was writing, she read over what she'd written and crumpled it up in frustration. It was so flat; she didn't sound like herself at all. Without the little anecdotal details she usually included in letters, this one sounded lifeless. She didn't want Charlie to think she was dead to herself. She wasn't. In truth, Lily had never felt more alive. A hand drifted gently to her stomach, beginning to swell now with the possible reason for this. She was living for two at the moment.

It felt somewhat wrong to bring new life into this world of terror. She didn't want her baby to live in fear, and she didn't want to expose him or her to the dangers that came part and parcel with surviving these days. The candle flickered on the desk. Everything would be alright, so long as James kept coming home – and James _would_ keep coming home. She looked across at the mantelpiece where a few photographs of them both together sat; smiling, laughing, waving. Outside in the sun. What wouldn't she give to go outside and have the sun beat down on her own skin? She was tired of having to drink polyjuice potion every time she left the house. Desperate times, she reminded herself, called for desperate measures. She should be thankful she was alive – freedom could be forfeited for the time being.

She was roused from her thoughts twenty minutes later as the door handle rattled. He didn't carry a key anymore – if he were to be… if something happened to him, it would be dangerous for him to have about his person. "Lily?" His voice was a comfort, warm through the cold wood of the door.

"I'm coming," she murmured, abandoning the quill and the letter without a second thought as she swept over to the door. James stepped in like a leaf carried on the wind, though only in the sense that his entrance was accompanied with a cold breeze that shook her to the bones, raising those familiar little pimples on her skin. Had they been there already, actually? She couldn't recall. Long, thin limbs were graceless as they struggled to force themselves through the doorframe, but she didn't care about that. All Lily really cared about was that he was home, and safe. As much as in her heart of hearts she always believed he'd have escaped his missions unscathed there was never an evening she wasn't grateful for his safe return.

"Ah, Lily."

Resting her knuckles against his face, she closed the door behind him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him – on the lips, mind; marriage certainly hadn't taken the physicality from _their_ relationship – in greeting before speaking, a smile on her face that gave all her feelings away in one look. "Oh, James, you're so cold."

"I'm alright. Are you OK?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." She moved back over to the desk and took a seat, watching as he stamped the snow from his shoes and unlaced them. She'd have helped, but she knew he didn't like things like that. "I just wish I could be out there helping…"

"Come off it, Lily; you think any of us are going to let you come along with Baby in tow?" They shared a knowing smile; though they hadn't been actively trying to conceive, discovering that they had had been like experiencing four Christmases at once; more, even. That had been two months ago now, and though at the beginning of it she had been perfectly capable of continuing to carry on doing work for the Order, James had expressly forbidden it. In truth they both knew he'd been looking for an excuse to get her out of the field for a while now, and as much as it pained her to allow him the comfort of her assured safety, she had stopped arguing about it after a while. Her original plan had been to persuade him to stay home too in order to look after her – not that she needed it – but naturally, he had refused. "Anyway, we didn't really need any extra heads tonight. Nothing really happened."

"I can't stand the thought of you and Sirius just standing there in the cold; it's so brutal out there."

He slipped into the seat next to her and ran his hands over his face; tired as it was natural to be. "It's fine. Well; it's hard. But we don't mind."

In an attempt to comfort him and warm him up at the same time, she started rubbing the top of his back and wondered how she'd ever hated him. "Shall I make you something to eat?"

"No, no; I'll do that. You'll have already had your dinner, right?"

"I waited for you."

"Oh, Lily!" He always stressed that she _wasn't_ to wait for him – she'd go hungry if she did. That was exactly what she'd done tonight; but it didn't seem fair to her to sit and eat a warm meal as he was out in the snow keeping an eye on who was entering and leaving the Ministry. "For goodness' sake." He wasn't really angry, though, and he had the puppyish smile on his face that had adorned his face for the majority of the time they'd spent together for the first month or so of their relationship – back then it was usually accompanied with a blush. His face was flushed now, but that was likely to be December's fault. Realising from past experiences that neither of them would give in, they didn't protest as they both stood up and made their way into to the kitchen and assumed their usual positions; after washing his hands of the snow and the muck he might have picked up outside, he rolled up his sleeves and began chopping up the vegetables for the soup as she prepared the pan and the hot water. They simply chatted companionably as they went about these tasks, and then once he'd passed all of his offerings over and she had dropped them into the pan they left it on to boil and went to sit down again. She could tell his limbs were more tired than he was letting on.

"What are you writing?" She laid her head on his shoulder, and before she answered they shifted so that she could tuck one arm in behind his neck. His arm moved automatically to pull her closer – albeit very gently; he was James Potter, after all – by the waist, and he bent his head rather awkwardly to kiss her forehead.

"Hm? What was the question"

"What are you writing?"

"Letter," she said, using her other hand to straighten the collar of his shirt. "To Charlie. It's hard; I don't know what to say."

"Mm," he agreed, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was in a bob-cut now so that it didn't take so much effort to style on a morning, but it made no difference to him. Though it wasn't quite as feminine as her longer, loosely curled locks in their younger years, it suited her brilliantly and in his opinion she was just as beautiful; if not more. She was glowing with pregnancy already. "Just tell her that everything's going to be alright."

"Is it, though?" She turned her head to face him, recalling her earlier thoughts of his safety and their _baby's_ safety, and the corrupted world they were living in.

He paused for a moment. Of course he knew exactly what she was talking about. Little did he wish to tell her that he and Sirius had fought off a death eater attack tonight; Sirius had come off a little worse than he had, if only because James wasn't watching his back properly. He felt guilty about that, even if it couldn't have happened any differently. Of course, he was ignoring the cuts on his lower back, and he didn't intend on telling Lily about them either. Somehow, however, even with the sticky feeling of drying blood against his shirt and the knowledge that it _had_ been Lucius Malfoy who had tipped the assailants off, confirming suspicions that he really was one of Voldemort's followers, James had the optimistic feeling that it wasn't going to last forever. "Of course it is." He sounded completely certain; it was groundless, perhaps, but she couldn't help but believe him. "Everything _is_ going to be alright."

Neither of them had been more sure of anything as they rested on the scratchy sofa in each other's arms, the smell of warm soup drifting in from the kitchen.


End file.
